Heart Carved Tree Trunk
by Miss Elucidation
Summary: When a mix up in papers sends Damian to McKinley High, he finds more than he bargains for in self-proclaimed nemesis, Sue Sylvester. Can he navigate his way through the crazy unscathed?  Not RPF, slight Dameron and Damian/everyone warning.
1. For God's Sake

Note: This is not "real person fic." This is just my own take on what Damian's character could possibly be. C: I just took the idea of an exchange student and ran with it. A special thank you to the Montgomery High School Student's Handbook, and my lovely Beta, JL!

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><p>"<em><strong>William McKinley High School is an academically demanding and encouraging community that provides innovative educational, extracurricular, and social opportunities that promote responsible citizenship and life-long learning."<strong>_

"No…no. NO! THIS ISN'T WHAT I WANTED AT ALL!"

In retrospect, Damian lamented as he dodged a stray stapler, he really ought to have given the exchange student application more than a cursory glance.

"This is an OUTRAGE! This—"A tall blonde woman, decked out in a track suit, pointed harshly at the boy sitting innocently in his plastic chair, "—is not what I ordered. The Department of Immigration will be getting a letter from me. And that letter will be full of anthrax. Do you hear me? _AN_-THRAX!"

"Sue, you can't just—just buy people!"

Wheeling around sharply, Sue Sylvester fearlessly faced a man in a pinstripe vest who looked vaguely like a poster boy for GQ. "Shut your distractingly hideous butt-chinned face, Will! I will not be silenced by the likes of you! Ever since you got my budget cut I've had to come up with new ways to support my Cheerios."

Will Schuester, Spanish teacher and glee coach extraordinaire, had seen a great deal of absurdity in his teaching stint at McKinley High, but he had to admit that the human trafficking was something new. "Did you honestly think you could get away with this? That you could abduct children from their homes without anyone noticing?"

Sue stepped in close enough for her breath to ghost across his cheek, her voice dipping. "Yes. Yes, I did. You know why? Because that's what foreign labor is for. You're so high and mighty on your pedestal—but take a closer look, Schuester. Your pedestal is made of empty bottles of hair gel. Hair gel that tiny little children overseas slaved to bottle, pack, and ship to America so you could slop it into your hair and look _absolutely ridiculous_. Now. All I wanted were tiny migrant workers to run on treadmills and supply energy to my Cheerio performances. It's not an unreasonable thing to want. What are a few small children here or there? Send out an exchange student form, make it look like they'd get some special opportunities and then end up with a cheap work force. It was perfect. But instead they had to send me an extra from _Riverdance_!"

Damian flinched away from the scowl she was directing at him. After all, it wasn't his fault she sent her fake forms to Ireland instead of Indonesia.

"That is enough, Sue!" The tiny principal rubbed his eyes wearily. "McKinley does not even have an exchange program. How is it possible that his transcript has been transferred here?"

Without batting an eyelash, Sue said, "I have a team of highly professional hackers that live in the basement of my Victorian chateau, subsiding only on red bull, mouse carcasses, and the knowledge that they serve a righteous cause."

Figgins and Schuester stared at the cheerleading coach in disbelief while Damian sank further into his chair. For all of the show tunes and inane Disney Channel movies about the luck of the Irish, he certainly didn't feel like he'd lucked out in this arrangement at all. _I've been tricked into coming to McKinley by an insane cheerleading coach in order to be used as a cheap source of fuel._

…That even sounded terrible in his head.

What were the odds of this happening? Damian imagined that the percentage was slim, because this sort of thing just didn't happen in the real world. The cheap plastic of the chair bit into his back as he fidgeted, wondering if the teachers in front of him had an actual plan for how to handle the situation. If the renewed squabbling was something to go by, they didn't.

"—I will not tolerate this abuse, William! You think you can say these things to me because I am a woman with _voluptuous_ breasts, but your brazen misogyny ends here. Susan B. Anthony will set you straight. That's the name of my arm. The 'B?' it stands for BICEP!" Schuester backed away quickly when Sue raised her arm menacingly. "That's what I thought. You, O'Hara, with me. You might not be what I ordered, but you can still run."

Damian frowned lightly and ran a hand through his short hair. "Erm… my name's McLaughlin, not—"

"Sue, he is not going with you." Figgins picked up his office phone exasperatedly and held it to his ear. "Now, you two. Get out of my office and do the jobs you are getting paid to do. Ah—yes, Father John?" He waved his hand at the door and swiveled in his chair as he spoke into the receiver.

Schuester grit his teeth at the dismissal, but left without issue. Sue, on the other hand, slammed the office door, turned, and shot Damian a look through the glass that could curdle milk. He looked back into the very depths of her soulless blue eyes and cowered in his seat. _Bless the Healthcare Act, because I am going to need intensive therapy when I get back home. _

"Very good. Thank you, sir. Thank you!" The phone clicked as Figgins placed it back into its cradle. "Weeeell. That was a local minister, Father John Michaels. You will be staying with him and his son for the duration of your… education here at McKinley High." He stood up and walked to his printer, pulled out Damian's schedule and handed it to him. "His son will meet you in the Main Office immediately after last bell to pick you up. Good luck, learn things, play nice, stay off the smack!"

Without waiting to hear anything Damian had to say, he shepherded the young boy out of his office and left him to face the crowded hallway alone.

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><p>Fantastic. Good to know the administration was on his side. Damian cocked his head at the paper in his hand, trying to figure out just what the heck was written there. The time table looked more like a cipher than a class schedule. <em>Fantaaaastic.<em>

He rolled his shoulder and readjusted his heavy pack, trying to catch the eyes of one of the students in the hallway, only to be fastidiously ignored by all. His watch read 7:05, giving him a few minutes to wander around and find his class. When he flipped the sheet he found a list entitled "McKinley Handbook".

**The faculty are here to help you; we want to hear what you have to say. **

Damian snorted, crossing it out with amusement.

**The dress code is strictly enforced.**

With the amount of girls in miniskirts and guys wearing "ghetto pants" running about the hallways, he sincerely doubted the validity of this statement as well.

**We value your right to self expression.**

Perhaps it was because of his own cynical thinking; perhaps it was because the first points were wrong or perhaps it was the obnoxious flowery font the paper was written in that made Damian believe that the rest of the list was a load of bologna as well. Regardless, he was wasting time. He needed someone to help him find his first period, and standing around reading useless McKinley High mottos would not help.

This in mind, he tapped the nearest person on the shoulder. "Ehm, E-excuse me!"

"What?" The tall African-American girl dropped all of her books in anxiety.

"I beg your pardon." He bent down at gathered them for her. "Didn't mean ta give you a fright. I was jus' wonderin' if you could help me figure out my schedule? I'm new here."

The girl didn't return his awkward grin. Instead she looked fearfully down the hallway multiple times before snatching the schedule out of his hand and scribbling down a deciphered version in the margins.

She shoved the paper back into his hands and snatched her books back. "You didn't talk to me, got it?" Without further delay she made her hasty escape.

"Aaaalrigh' then." He frowned at her retreating back for a moment. Logically, Damian knew that everyone in the school couldn't be completely cracked, but he was starting to get that impression. After a thorough mental shake, Damian headed vaguely in the direction of the Science wing, not wanting to be late. But not before mentally crossing out,

**10.) Fellow students are open and caring; don't be afraid to ask them questions!**

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><p>When Damian cut through the court yard to get to third period, he wasn't very shocked to see the cluster of drama kids smoking by a koi pond that resembled an in-ground dumpster more than anything else.<p>

He uncapped the pen with his teeth and used a book to prop up the list, carefully drawing a line through 19.

**19.) Smoking on school grounds will not be tolerated. **

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><p>Rather than surprise, Damian felt more disturbed and nauseas when, in the library, the boy at the computer next to him opened up a new tab called "BIG TITZ" and proceeded to stick his hands down his pants.<p>

Damian was already halfway down the hallway when he pulled out the list and scribbled out rule 34.

**34.) ****The creation, display, access, transmission, reception, exchange or distribution of any text, image or sound that is indecent, obscene, racist, sexist, pervasively vulgar, defamatory, illegal, or that promotes harm to self or others is prohibited on school computers.**

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><p>Damian was not lost. He just didn't know where he was. Cursing the architect who thought it'd be a fabulous idea to make identical hallways, the Irish boy trekked onwards in what he hoped was the way to the Canteen. It wasn't so bad, he supposed, since the normally packed hallways were completely devoid of life. The quiet emptiness was comforting. When he closed his eyes, he could almost pretend that he was back in Derry. Though, he couldn't say that being grabbed by beefy arms was something that happened often at his old school.<p>

"TOP O' THE MORNIN', FAGGOT!"

He couldn't say that being slammed into a locker was something that happened at Derry, either. Damian attempted to twist away but was easily shoved backwards, the handle of a locker digging painfully into his spine. He staggered forward a bit and got a clear look at who had ambushed him. Seven hulking boys stood in a semi-circle, effectively sealing off any escape routes. All wore matching red McKinley varsity football jackets, all were easily over 6 feet tall, and they were all sporting matching smug grins. Why he had incurred the wrath of what he assumed was the McKinley defensive line wasn't so much of a mystery—he was fresh meat. Why, on the other hand, they were all clutching 7-11 Mega-Gulps, was yet to be known. Damian internally crossed off rule 31, outlining that students were not permitted to leave campus for lunch.

"What?" The boy who had first grabbed him stepped forward. "Not even gonna say hi back? That's very, very rude."

"Yeah, that ain't polite. Say 'top o' the morning' back to Karofsky," said the only African-American of the group. His legs were wide apart, as if he were preparing for a tackle and his chest was puffed out arrogantly. His stance and tone of voice screamed 'ring leader.'

Damian clenched his jaw, unwilling to play their games.

"Say it!" The ring leader smacked him hard on the shoulder.

Still Damian refused, squared his shoulders, and looked unyieldingly back into the others eyes. He anticipated the blow before it came, but his reflexes weren't fast enough to stop the footballer's fist connecting with his jaw. Damian reeled, clutching his face as pain exploded in his mouth and knocked his teeth spectacularly. Tentatively, he used his tongue to make sure none of them had been smacked loose. There was no doubt in the Irish boy's mind that the hit would leave a bruise; he simply hoped that it wouldn't be a large one.

"Fuck it, let it go Azimio. We need to educate this newbie about how things are run around here." Karofksy grinned with wolfish enthusiasm and shook his 7-11 cup.

Azimio, rather than being put out over being questioned, smirked back at his Number Two and nodded his assent. "Heeeells yeah we do. So here's how it goes, newbie, are you listenin' close?"

Damian balled his fists at his sides.

Azimio's face fell into something cold and menacing. "Jones?"

A boy, _Jones_ presumably, came forward and grabbed Damian's short hair and roughly threw his head forward and back in a violent nod.

"Gooood, now that I gots your attention. We," Azimio motioned to his disciples, "are top of the food chain. We are the lords n' saviors of this school. Our popularity is through the roof. Yours. Ain't. You are so low you ain't even on the charts. We run this place. We _own_ you." After sneering with a flourish, he looked down at his cup and frowned. He turned to the rest of the Defensive line. "Y'know, considerin' the fresh meat is foreign, why don't we treat him to something more patriotic? How 'bout green slush?"

The footballers nodded eagerly and presented their cups out to their leader. At Azimio's command Jones ran off to the Janitor's closet and returned with a large bucket. They all crowded around the orange plastic Home-Depot pail, glancing anxiously back and forth at each other.

"Uh…" Jones began, "What colors make green?"

"RED N' BLUE, FAGGOT! DON'T YOU KNOW YOUR COLORS?"

Sticking around to see what they planned on doing with their slushy mix seemed like a bad plan. So Damian began to steal away, only to be thwarted when Karofsky grabbed him roughly by his neck and, to the smaller boy's dismay, held him there until the jocks sorted out their primaries. Eventually they arrived at the right color, and the green mess slopped up to the rim of the bucket.

Azimio motioned with his hand and one of the jocks lifted the pail. "Welcome to McKinley High, mother fucker."

Damian had never felt such a biting cold before; the ice was like a thousand needles piercing into his skin at once. The corn syrup seeped its way between his lids, burning at his eyes his so terribly that he couldn't open them. He stood there, gasping and wiping at his eyes with panic as the jocks laughed hysterically. Damian kept his eyes shut as he stumbled down the hallway, the laughter growing quieter as he got farther and farther away. He was pretty sure there was a bathroom down this way somewhere. He had to get this junk out of his eyes or he'd…he'd… He didn't know what he'd do. The bubbling alarm and the humiliation that sat hollowly in his chest made it hard to think.

A disgruntled "Eek!" came from the body Damian had just walked headlong into.

"S-sorry!" Damian rubbed futilely at his syrupped eyes and attempted to crack them. "Normally I'd say something else along the lines of, 'I should really watch more carefully where I'm goin' ' but as you can see, _I can't see._" It stung every time Damian forced his lids open.

"It's alright, no need to apologize. We've all been here. Though I can't say I've ever seen anybody get a _green_ one," said the stranger

Damian rubbed at his eyes bitterly. "I'm so glad I got ta be the first. Hate ta dash but-" He made to push past the person on front of him, but was stopped short by a hand on his wrist. Anger flared up in him like a red hot poker to the ribs. "Let. Go."

To his surprise, the stranger immediately released him and pressed a tin bottle into his palm. "That's for your eyes, and I haven't drunk out of it either, so you won't have to worry about getting backwash into your corneas. It's best to flush the corn syrup out immediately although you'll still feel a peculiar burning sensation for several hours and unfortunately there's nothing you can do right now about the skin-staining that is undoubtedly taking place, because as it is you look like you're going to audition for Elphaba in Kurt's all male rendition of Wicked." The girl finally stopped for a breath, but her voice had taken an accusing tone. "You're _not_ auditioning, are you?"

"Uh… no?" Damian swung his head back and tipped the water into his right eye. "What's an 'Elfehba?'"

After a moment of shocked silence she tutted. "She's only one of the most inspiring and iconic female leads to ever grace the stage in a musical."

Damian found it remarkable that she could sound chiding and relieved at the same time. "Oh. Sorry, musical theater isn't really my area of expertise." With both eyes cleared of slushy, he could finally see whom he was addressing. The girl in front of him was petite, with medium length brown hair and a stony expression. The kitties on her lurid sweater looked like they had crawled out of one of the circles of hell. "Thanks for helping me… uh-?" He cut off feeling spectacularly awkward.

"Rachel Berry," she supplied matter-of-factly while taking back her bottle.

He shrugged out of his damp, dark green button-down to reveal a white under shirt only somewhat speckled with green slush. "Thanks then, Rachel. I'm Damian. By the way." Giving up on the shirt as a lost cause, he used it as an improvised towel for his wet face and hair. When he pulled the fabric away Rachel was staring at his arms. Damian cleared his throat. "Uh… so uh… why are you out here instead of at lunch?"

Rachel snapped her gaze back up to Damian's eyes and folded her arms across her chest. "I decided that my talent was much more important than the urge to consume food. So I spent my time in the choir room." She raised her chin and looked down her nose. "I happen to be singing one of the most important solos of my career -made famous by none other than musical legend and Broadway goddess, Barbra Streisand- so I couldn't risk not practicing and dishonoring her good name."

"So you're in the chorus?" He ran a hand through his sticky spikes.

"Glee club."

"What-club?" his eyebrows started to raise against his will.

"Glee club." Rachel eyes widened and her arms fell to her sides. "_Glee_ club. You don't have those in Ireland?" When he shook his head she patted him consolingly on the back. "A glee club is a group of students organized to sing short choral works combined with choreography in a competitive setting. _Our_ club made it to nationals last year. " She opened her meticulously organized bag and withdrew from it a flyer, which she passionately handed to the tall boy. It read "New Directions – Now accepting new members. Auditions on September 20th in room B2224. Please contact Rachel Berry, Finn Hudson, or Mr. Schuester for more details."

Damian squinted at the paper. "Why is there a person with their head on fire?"

Flustered, Rachel pulled out another flyer from her bag and scrutinized it angrily. "_Puckerman!_" she crushed the paper in her hands and straightened her back. "I have something to take care of. It was a pleasure meeting you, Damian." Her clunky loafers made a squeaky noise on the wet floor as she abruptly turned heel and stormed down the hallway.

With a sigh, Damian reached into the back pocket of his jeans and slipped out a list and a pen. He drew a line through rule 31 and, with extra zeal, also crossed out rule number four.

**31.) Students are not permitted to leave campus for lunch**

**4.) We have a zero tolerance policy when it comes to bullying. **

Damian folded the list and the flyer and tucked it back into his jeans pocket before heading off towards his locker. Finding the Canteen could be a job for his second day of school.

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><p>When Damian passed by a couple voraciously sucking face next to the stairwell he didn't even blink. He simply pulled out his list and blacked out rule 7, taking the stairs two at a time.<p>

**7.) Students are to refrain from embracing, kissing, and other over displays of affection which may be interpreted by others as undue familiarity and improper decorum in a school setting. **

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><p>Heaving a sigh, Damian closed the locker door and pressed his forehead against the cool metal. <em>Everybody in this school is absolutely barmy. I'm in a school for the loony. <em>Attempting to regain some semblance of control, He slid his eyes shut. Much to his chagrin, a tall blonde girl sidled up next to him.

"Hi. I'm Brittany."

Shouldering the burdens of the world, Damian opened his eyes, turning to address the girl in what he prayed was a polite manner. "Err… Damian. Everything… alrigh' there?"

The WMHS Cheerio's uniform was the first thing he noticed about her, with the second being the intense look of interest on her face. Brittany stared long and hard at the lanky Irish boy without answering, until she finally leaned in to whisper conspiratorially, "I'm here to help you. I know what you are, and I'm going to help you keep _it_ safe. There are evil people around here who want to take advantage of you, since you're so far from home." She smiled softly and placed a gentle hand on Damian's shoulder. "But I won't let them get you, I promise."

Blinking hard and scrubbing at his eyes, Damian replied, "S-sorry? I don't think I… I don't think I follow."

"It's okay," Brittany replied soothingly. "I haven't seen any rainbows lately, so your gold should be safe, at least for now. The next time it rains, you'll want to move it, though. It's strange; I always thought your kind would be shorter… and more… beardy." To punctuate her point she motioned at her chin, as if she were stroking an invisible beard. He stared at her, brow furrowed, until at last it dawned on him what she was talking about. His eyebrows shot towards his hairline. _Oh sweet merciful Mary, this girl is calling me a leprechaun._

Where… where to begin? Damian stared into Brittany's earnest eyes and felt his surprise escalate when he realized that she wasn't having him on. "Listen, Brittany, I—," but his mouth clicked shut at the expression on the cheerleader's face. The look she was fixing him could only be described as open, kind, and caring. "I am…" Damian could feel the protest dying in his throat. "Erm… I put my gold in the uh… bank. It's a special bank just for… err… when we have to travel. We can't bring giant pots of gold around with us all the time, y'know?" He tugged at his hair, hardly believing the conversation he was having. "But I appreciate the offer, really, I do."

It was astounding, Damian concluded, as he watched Brittany's face. It was almost as if he could see the gears turning in her head as she thought it over. At last the petite cheerleader accepted his explanation and nodded her head. Damian smiled awkwardly at her.

"Oh! I have—" Brittany exclaimed as she dug around excitedly in her bag. "Here!"

A plastic baggie of slightly smushed, stale Lucky Charms was procured and brandished in front of Damian's face. Oh, hell no. Assuming he kept a pot of gold was one thing, but giving him Lucky Charms? That wounded Damian's national pride.

"Now hold on jus' a minute, I don't—"

Brittany cut in quickly "—the cafeteria doesn't sell breakfast cereal. I brought some from home so you wouldn't starve." She dangled the plastic bag close to his chest, her sweet smile sending waves of innocence off her.

It was in that moment, in the face of Brittany's… well, _face,_ that Damian realized just how royally screwed he was. He stretched his arm out and accepted the baggie, twisting the zip-tie edges in his fingers as he attempted to come up with something to say in response. It was really quite nice of Brittany to bring him the cereal, since she did truly believe that he'd starve otherwise. Brittany was a caring girl, if only a bit misguided. Okay, _a lot_ misguided. Suddenly he remembered he was supposed to have said something, rather than get caught up in his thoughts. Judging by the look on his companion's face when he came to, however, he needn't have worried. Brittany was simply staring, waiting patiently.

He swallowed thickly, thinking it best to humor her. "T-Thanks, Brittany. It can be hard sometimes, y'know… for my people. We're often overlooked by the school administration in favor of other minorities. We can't even get a proper meal plan." He shook the bag of cereal for emphasis. "And this is supposed to be the land of plenty, yet we have no representation in Congress, no lobbyists for Leprechaun rights. How long must we suffer in silence? How long must we suffer injustice at the hands of a government indifferent to our plight?" Damian grinned and continued with gusto. "I have been to the mountain top, and I have seen the promised… land…?" He trailed off when he caught sight of Brittany's bewildered expression. _Oh._ "I… I may have overstepped it a bit with the Martin Luther King," he conceded, his smile slipping. To be honest, Damian had probably lost her at 'administration.'

"It's okay, I know you're sensitive and missing your homeland." She pulled Damian into a soft hug, oblivious to his discomfort, and then excused herself with propriety. "I have to pee. See you around!" With that, she shouldered her bag and ambled down the hall, leaving a very confused Irish boy in her wake who belatedly wiggled his fingers in goodbye.

Everybody in McKinley could stand for psychological evaluation….himself included, Damian decided as he made his way to History class. Maybe if he ignored it long enough, the throbbing in his jaw would go away.

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><p>I hope you guys liked this! It'd be great to get some feedback on what I can improve. I haven't written anything in years, and this is my first foray into fanfic-land.<p>

Next chapter we will meet the Minister's son, Cameron. ;D


	2. Damian, Dear

(AN) Hey gang! Sorry for the late update, I was suffering from a case of Everything-I-Write-Is-Terrible-itis. A special thank you this week to my Beta, Wecouldexplorethegalaxy for putting up with my tears.

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><p>"¿Que hora es?"<p>

The class chanted back more or less in unison, with a few boys in the back dragging out their reply to be funny. "Son las dos menos cinco de la tarde"

"Bueno!" Mr. Schuester snapped his fingers happily and continued his whirlwind around the classroom. "¿De donde eres? Umm… Rosalia?"

Rosalia twirled her hair around her finger, and Damian tuned out her answer in favor of staring down the clock above the door.

It read 1:57. _Son las dos menos tres de la tarde._

Groaning internally, Damian forced his attention back onto his desk. It wasn't as if he had anything against Spanish 1 or Mr. Schuester's over-bearing enthusiasm. In fact, the energy the young teacher displayed was a welcome change; all of his other instructors seemed to have had lost the will to live somewhere between driving from their house to work. His biology teacher had, in fact, walked in half an hour late looking like he hadn't showered or shaved in several days. No, it wasn't that he disliked class. The reason the blue-eyed boy kept obsessively watching the clock was because he simply dreaded meeting the minister's son. Damian and his mother belonged to a very particular sect of Christianity, one that was generally disliked amongst the Church. He was a practicing Bad Catholic.

2:01. _Son las dos y uno_

The only time his family attended Mass was when his Gran lived with them, as she was devout and was determined to save the souls of all the McLaughlins. When she left and moved into a retirement home, the church going visits had waned. Damian could distinctly remember his mother telling him once, "It's raining. Why don't we just… go _next_ Sunday, hmm?" which would have been fine, if it didn't _rain constantly_ in Ireland. Sure, Damian knew some things about the Bible. He remembered the Stations of the Cross and how to properly accept the Eucharist, but nothing beyond the basics. Staying with a heavily religious family was going to be terribly uncomfortable, he just knew it. Damian miserably doodled a chili wearing a sombrero into his notebook before glancing at the clock.

2:06. _Son las dos y seis_

"Damy-ahn! ¿Cuántos años tienes?" Schuester smiled and pointed his finger at Damian, but before the boy had time to fumble an answer the final bell rang out. The cheerful Spanish teacher dashed to the front of the room and began scribbling the homework frantically on the whiteboard. "Don't forget, your biographies are due next Thursday! Be creative!"

Heaving a sigh, Damian slowly pushed himself out of his desk and dragged his feet to the door. He could only hope that the Michaels wouldn't be too disappointed by his decidedly un-pious nature.

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><p>Damian carefully edged open the glass door of the main office and stepped inside. The secretary glanced up and motioned to the corner of the room where his black suitcase sat propped up against the wall, looking so very out of place in the sleek, glass office. He nodded his thanks, picked up his case, and dragged it out into the hallway to wait for the Michaels kid. Who was late. Damian shrugged and pulled out his old, beaten up mp3 player and unraveled his equally well-worn headphones. He was debating over which playlist to select when a tall boy came running from around the corner and stopped abruptly next to him, waving his hands frantically to keep his balance. The boy dropped the bag from his shoulders and bent over, putting his hands on his knees to catch his breath.<p>

"I'm so—" he panted, "-so sorry I—" He stopped for more heavy breathing "-Had to take the long way— Hockey players in the Math hallway-Gah!" He straightened up and threw his head back, taking several deep gulps of air.

Damian stared wide-eyed and slowly lowered his headphones to his neck, taking in the other boy's appearance. He was taller by several inches, clad in tight acid-wash skinny jeans with the bottoms turned up above brown work boots. Tucked into his jeans was a pale red plaid button down under a crimson cardigan that had one sleeve slipping down from running. His hair was a soft blonde swept carefully to the side, and his friendly eyes were hidden behind thick lenses that covered up half his face. Around his neck, lying innocently against the boy's chest, was a simple cross made of dark brown wood.

"I'm Cameron Michaels." Having caught his breath, he shook his head clear and finally looked up at the exchange student. "You must be Dami—"he stopped abruptly and his smile faltered "—oh…"

His name was most certainly not Damioh. Damian cocked his head to the side, wondering fleetingly why Cameron was giving him a pained look until the events of the afternoon came crashing back. "Oh. Right. Yes. The green skin." Maybe if he tried hard enough, he could convince the other that he was actually the Hulk.

The edges of Cameron's lips quirked up when he heard Damian's accent. He pushed his glasses up his nose and said ruefully, "I see you've met the Welcome Committee. I'd hoped that they would wait a day so I could have warned you…" Cameron bit his lip anxiously. "This 'splains why the football team was so happy today."

Damian just shrugged and rubbed at his jaw.

The bespectacled boy cleared his throat and touched his cross briefly. "Uh… my car's in the back lot. Should I take your…?" He motioned at the black case.

Cameron's cross grabbing tic had not gone unnoticed. Damian picked up his suitcase himself and quirked an eyebrow.

Nodding, Cameron grabbed the backpack he dropped earlier and swung it onto his shoulder. The pair walked down the hallway in silence.

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><p>"Damian. Meet Gladys." Cameron tapped his old red mini-van lovingly before turning around to grin proudly at his new Irish friend.<p>

Gladys was clearly an old girl. Paint was peeling off in places, and only one out of the four hubcaps still remained. All of the stickers on the back bumper were faded and illegible except one, which was blue with white lettering and said, "Lord, watch over this driver."

When Cameron caught Damian looking at the sticker he flushed and said, "My Nana gave that to me when I passed my driver's test."

"Hey, hey, no judgment." Damian smiled and held up a hand. He lifted his bag with the other hand and put it in the open trunk. After Cameron slammed the door closed Damian fidgeted, trying to prepare what he had to say.

"I uh… Listen, Cameron, I…I really appreciate… this." He stuffed his hands into his pockets and looked resolutely down at the asphalt.

The taller boy pushed his glasses up his nose and gave Damian's shoulder a friendly squeeze. "Anytime." When the Irish boy looked up, Cameron flashed him an encouraging smile and headed for the driver's seat.

Damian climbed into the shotgun and closed the door behind him, wincing apologetically when it made a terrific squeaking noise.

The inside of the car was just as worn as the outside. The carpeting was threadbare in places, looking as if holes were about to break through the dark grey fabric. In the back passenger seats were several black plastic trash bags bulging with clothes.

"I don't hoard clothes. Those are for the Salvation Army. I can—" the van stalled when the Cameron twisted the keys in the ignition. "-do that-" The second try yielded more stalling. "-_tomorrow!_" At last, on the third try Gladys sprang to life, her engine puttering away. Cameron sighed, resting his forehead on the steering wheel in relief. He patted his console soothingly, causing a plastic bobble-figurine on his dash to wobble.

Damian stared dumbstruck at the figurine and it stared back at Damian beneath a crown of thorns, teetering with divine dignity.

Jesus of Nazareth was in the car with them.

Apparently, Jesus of Nazareth was also made in China.

"Is that…?" Damian reached out to place a finger on its head, and, with a distinct lack of veneration, launched the personal Savior of 2.1 billion people back and forth.

Cameron looked up from the steering wheel, his ears tinged red with embarrassment. "My Uncle Steve… he gave that to me for Easter last year. He thought it was funny. The year before he got me a St. Francis of Assisi flashlight." Switching the gears into reverse, he put his arm on the back of Damian's seat and twisted himself around, backing out of his parking spot carefully. "The light comes out of the bald spot on his head. Nana was so appalled she wouldn't speak to my Uncle for days."

When Cameron pulled up to the light at the entrance of the school, he took the opportunity to grin widely at his passenger, his eyes crinkling. The smile was toothy and too large for his face, but it was genuine and comically nerdy.

For the first time the whole day, Damian found himself relaxing.

* * *

><p>"Wait."<p>

"What?" Cameron paused, his keys already in the door to his house.

It seemed slightly irrational but… the threshold of the Michaels' residence felt like the point of no return to Damian- He had to be forthright about his lack of faith, or he'd feel as if he were somehow cheating the family generous enough to take him in.

Using the pooling guilt in his stomach as a buoy, the Irish boy sucked in a breath and said, "I'm… not Methodist… I'm Catholic."

"Okay…?" Cameron smiled confusedly and unlocked his front door, but before he could push it open, a cool hand fell upon his wrist. He patiently looked back up. Damian's face was the picture of anxiety behind mottled green skin.

"I don't think you understand I—"Damian ran a hand through his hair and floundered. "I'm uh… a _bad_ Catholic."

Sensing that this was a serious issue, Cameron took a step back and straightened his glasses. He placed a hand on Damian's shoulder. "It's fine," he said quietly. "Doesn't matter to me—or my family—who or what you are." Smiling tranquilly, he then hip-checked his door open and hopped inside.

Damian let out a shaky breath and followed his companion inside, feeling slightly more at ease.

* * *

><p>Cameron's house was not at all what Damian had expected it to be. The picture in his head had been one of bleakness. Ascetic. Freakishly clean. Sterile. He had pictured couches with plastic coverings, pretentions white carpets, and gigantic pictures of Jesus surrounded by white vases of plastic flowers. What he saw instead was homey, and radiated warmth from every corner. It had no upper floor, and with a distinct feel of being lived in it was a cozy environment. The foyer was painted a soft red and the smell of cinnamon permeated the air. Cameron opened a closet by the front door and tossed his backpack in, motioning for Damian to do the same. Once both packs were carelessly stowed he bumped the door closed with his hip.<p>

"My room is the first door on the left." Cameron slid his glasses up his nose and led the way down the adjoining hallway.

Once inside his bedroom, the blonde boy made a swooping motion and said, "Welcome to my humble abode!" Then promptly belly flopped onto the bed next to the window.

Damian carefully stepped across the threshold and plunked his suitcase onto the bed facing the inner-wall. Cameron's bedroom mirrored the rest of the house; it was convivial and perfectly normal, without a cross in sight. On the wall next to the boy's bed, where Damian had predicted earlier in the day it would have the Ten Commandments written in pigs' blood, were several posters of rock bands and photographs with Cameron surrounded by cheerful people. Featured prominently in them was a large red-haired girl, who seemed to always be laughing. Damian wondered over and pointed to her. "Is that your girl?"

Cameron popped his head up, his glasses askew. "What-?" He straightened them and followed Damian's finger to the photograph. "Yes. I mean no-! Well in a way I suppose she is. That's Hannah, my best friend. She graduated last year. She goes to college in California, now."

Damian noted the tone of affection and smiled. "She looks like a riot." He nodded at one of the photos where Hannah had a whip cream beard.

A muffled "wah?" came from where Cameron had plopped his face into the sheets.

The Irish boy frowned for a second and then said quickly, "A riot… like uh… like a good time." He waved an arm lamely then perched himself on the edge of Cameron's bed.

"Oh! That makes sense." The blonde struggled to sit up and pointed to the other bed. "That's yours. Well—technically it's Roy's—my brother- but he's in Africa doing mission work. " Cameron yawned and then said abruptly, "Do you want to shower?"

"Huh?" Damian replied eloquently.

"I had assumed that you'd want to wash off the slushy," said Cameron, cocking an eyebrow.

Damian looked down at his green speckled shirt and nodded. "Right. Yes. Hulk visage."

Laughing, Cameron hopped up from his bed and walked into the hallway, pointing to a door on the right. "Bathroom. There are towels in the closet."

"Thanks." From his suitcase Damian grabbed a change of clothes before heading to the bathroom. "Cheers."

* * *

><p>When Damian emerged from the shower, refreshed but still slightly tinged green, the first thing he noticed was that the blinds had been drawn, shading the room from the late afternoon sun. Also, tiny snuffling noises were coming from Cameron's slumbering figure. The boy was lying flat out on his stomach, head buried into the pillow, with the temples of his glasses poking up. Damian quietly opened his suitcase and withdrew from it a leather jacket, soft in a way that only comes from years of wear, and laid down on the spare bed, clutching the article to his chest like one might a teddy bear. The only light in the room filtered through the slats in the blinds, casting a pattern like the bars of a jail cell on the wall.<p>

Damian buried his face into the leather of the jacket, eyes closed, and focused only on breathing deeply.

* * *

><p>Sometime later Damian's meditation was broken by someone tapping at Cameron's door. "Cam—Sweetie? Are you in there?" came muffled through the wood frame.<p>

Cameron shot out of bed like a rocket, wincing at the painful impression his glasses left on his nose from sleeping on them. "Yeah, Mom!" He scrambled to the door and swung it open.

Mrs. Michaels looked strikingly like her son, Damian noted. She was tall and willowy, with the same pointed nose and corn blonde hair as Cameron. When she entered the room, Damian hastily stood at attention.

"Did you forget to take your glasses off again?" She clicked her tongue affectionately and carefully pulled off Cameron's frames, taking a better look at the divot it left in his skin. "Cameron, dear—"

"I know, I know." Cameron smiled apologetically and took his glasses back. "Oh, Mom, this is Damian McLaughlin."

Damian shuffled his feet and rubbed the back of his neck. "H-Hi. Thanks for… letting me stay, Ma'am. Y'know… on such short notice. I'll try not to be too much of a…a…burden."

"Of course not, dear. You're welcome here, and we're happy to have you." Mrs. Michaels smiled sweetly and moved to the door. "Oh, wait!" she giggled and smacked herself lightly in the head. "I forgot—the reason I came in- Damian, sweetie, you're not a vegetarian, are you?" When Damian meekly shook his head no, she nodded and flittered away with an offhand, "I made apple pie" thrown over her shoulder as she departed.

"Your mum is… nice," Damian commented before sitting back down on his bed, drawing his jacket into his lap. _Although the pet names are a little excessive._ "I can't believe—Apple pie—you're so… it's so… _American_."

"Thanks." Cameron grinned, running a hand through his bed-head.

Damian wondered if the Michaels ever stopped smiling.

* * *

><p>The answer was no; the Michaels never, ever stopped smiling. They smiled while cooking. <em>("Damian, dear, would you pass me the pepper?" Mrs. Michaels beamed) <em>They smiled while setting the table. _("Hey, Damian?" Cameron grinned with amusement. "The forks go on the other side.") _It seemed that a polite smile was the default setting for all of the Michaels'.

"Let's say grace, shall we?" said Mr. Michaels, smiling from the head of the table. The minister was on the shorter side, with broad shoulders and a strong voice that he had used to great effect when greeting Damian for the first time earlier that evening. Wherever he went, he left a faint smell of church incense in his wake, and his dark brown hair was peppered with grey.

"Damian…?"

Jerking back to focus, Damian looked up at the religious leader. Mr. Michaels was peering at him with the same, patient hazel eyes that his son had. Belatedly, Damian took hold of Cameron and his mother's hands so that they could commence with the prayer. He could feel the calluses on Cameron's fingertips and the rings on Mrs. Michaels' fingers.

Mr. Michaels began speaking, his rich tones filling up the room. He was creating his own grace, Damian realized, the minister was thanking the Lord for watching over his family, and for the pleasant things that had happened in the community—a far cry from the grace Damian's family used to say, the jumble of words that were once a prayer but was unintelligible from the speed at which it was uttered_. "" _

"-And thank you, Lord, for helping Mr. Jackson get over his pirate costume addiction. Amen."

The family chorused "amen" and dropped hands in order to dig into their spaghetti.

Damian watched Cameron twirl his fork in the pasta and attempted to mimic him. It was harder than it looked. The damn noodles kept _slipping_ off the tines, making the sauce splash. Damian refused to give up, though.

"So Damian, dear, what brings you to Ohio?" Mrs. Michaels patted her mouth delicately with a napkin.

"Besides a manipulative Cheerleading coach?" Damian joked lamely. He cleared his throat and continued when he was met with questioning smiles. "Um. I've never been outside of Ireland before. I thought it'd be fun."

From the murmurs of assent, Damian could tell that they didn't believe it to be the full truth but they didn't press it, for which he was grateful.

"How was your day, mom?"

"Oooh, you wouldn't believe it—"

Damian spent the rest of dinner quietly wrestling with his pasta, silently cursing the Italians who thought that slippery noodles made a good dish.

* * *

><p>"Ya play 'n instrument, don' ya?" Damian asked, as he casually pulled his nightshirt over his head, his accent thicker from exhaustion.<p>

Cameron glanced up from the book he was reading. Pride and Prejudice_—Oh for God's sake—"_Yeah, guitar. How did you know?"

Recovering from the Jane Austen induced exasperation Damian replied, "Ye've got calluses on de fingertips of yer left 'and. I kinda jus' figured."

Cameron dropped the book on his chest and examined his fingertips. "Oh. Well spotted."

Damian yawned and crawled under the comforter of his loaned bed. "T'anks. I try."

"See you in the morning." Cameron said, reaching a long arm out to switch off the lamp.

_One day down_, Damian thought as he drifted, _one hundred and seventy-nine to go_.


	3. Woah, woah, Lollipop!

A/N Thanks be to my glorious Beta, Wecouldexplorethegalaxy! If you ever get a hankering for a Sherlock Holmes fic, she's the author to read. Anyway, I present chapter 3! Where reality sets in, and MORE Sue. Oh yisss...

* * *

><p>"Daaaaaamiiiian! Damian. DAY-meee-aaaaaaan!" A fully dressed, already showered Cameron poked the lump of sheets where he estimated Damian's ribs to be. "Damian, it's 6 am." He poked him again and started to sing. "<em>It's time to get up, it's time to get up, it's time to get up in the mor-ning<em>!"

A very disgruntled Damian poked his head out from under the sheets and glared daggers at the blonde boy.

Cameron was neither daunted nor deterred by the power of the Irish boy's icy glower. He simply smiled that damnable smile and said, "I'll make you breakfast!" and scarpered off to the kitchen.

Damian groaned and rolled onto the floor. _Of course Cameron would be a morning person._

Running a hand through his freshly wet spikes, Damian staggered into the kitchen wholly expecting woodland creatures to be assisting Cameron as he cooked and sang to them.

He stumbled into one of the chairs, dropped his head onto the kitchen table and grumbled, "Where're yer animal helpers?"

Cameron pointedly ignored the jibe and placed a plate of eggs and toast in front of him, along with a glass of orange juice. He pushed his glasses up his nose and took the seat across from the blue-eyed boy, sipping his tea.

Slowly_, agonizingly_, Damian lifted his head and pulled the food towards him. "T'anks."

"Damian!" Cameron yelped in alarm

Egg plopped off his fork, back onto the plate when Damian froze mid bite. "What-?" His hand fisted around the utensil reflexively.

"What—What happened to your face?" Cameron ducked his head close to Damian's chin, observing the giant purpling bruise there with obvious distress.

"Uh…" Damian grunted

Cameron's mouth shut with an audible click.

The Irish boy poked gingerly at the sensitive area of his jaw. Recalling the shower-steamed mirror, the boy grinned sheepishly. He could only guess at the size of the bruise that had formed overnight. "It's a… fashion statement?" he ventured.

The strangest look passed over Cameron's face as he stood, clearing the table. As if he were vaguely nauseas, all the while trying to force his pleasant smile back onto his face.

* * *

><p>The car ride to school was painfully silent, apart from the occasional bangs that came from Gladys' elderly springs. Damian tapped his jean-clad legs in agitation. Cameron had not breathed a word, and wore such an intense look of contemplation that Damian hadn't the heart to disturb him with a lame crack about the weather.<p>

When they reached the school, Cameron slid out of the driver's seat agitatedly.

"If you…" Cameron grabbed his cross nervously. "Get slushied again today… I always keep spare clothes in my locker. "

The abruptness threw Damian off guard. He stumbled as he withdrew his pack from the beaten up van.

"Thanks…? But that won't happen again will it? That was jus' a… jus' a one-time deal, right?" He managed to say after a tussle with his pack.

Cameron offered a tight-lipped smile in reply, reaching into Gladys for a pad and pencil to scribble his locker number onto. "221, B-Wing. Combo 39-0-35. You can get in at any time."

Nodding his thanks, Damian tucked the scrap of paper into his pocket and the duo slowly made their way into the school. The Irish boy tentatively allowed himself to hope that this day would proceed better than the last.

* * *

><p>The hope only lasted one period. He had heard the muffled shouts coming from the janitor's closet on his way to second period. Damian stopped, looking first at the door with the broom shoved through its handle, then at all of the students milling past with their heads down. Gritting his teeth, Damian knocked the broom to the ground, freeing the door to swing open.<p>

"Er… Are you alrigh'?" He inquired at the figure that had immediately flopped onto the floor.

The boy quivered and shook for what seemed like a long time. Damian sank down to his knees and awkwardly patted the dread-headed boy on the back. The bell for second period had rung and the hall emptied by the time Dreads was finished gulping in air and dry heaving. Eventually the boy pushed himself out of his fetal position into sitting upright.

"Thanks," he said hoarsely, bringing his paint-spattered fingers up to adjust his dreads.

Damian shivered at the genuine gratefulness in the other boy's voice and shrugged. "No worries. Sure you would'a done the same for me."

Dreads looked down at his knees and frowned, conflicted.

"You need help getting to the nurse?" Damian asked at length. When the other boy shook his head, He stood up and shouldered his bag, heading off to his second period. He wondered how long Dread-Head would have been stuck in that closet if he hadn't knocked the broom out of the way.

Damian shivered again.

* * *

><p>The Irish boy found himself shivering for the third time at lunch. There was just no getting around it. Damian's peanut butter and jelly sandwich had been cut into the shape of a heart. So had Cameron's, but the other boy hadn't been in the least bit perturbed, carrying on unpacking the rest of his lunch like it was the most normal thing in the world.<p>

"Hey, Cam?" Damian asked, pointing at the sandwich.

Cameron looked over, taking a big swallow of juice before answering, "Oh that's just my Ma. She likes to do things like that sometimes."

Damian stared into the brown bag at the other food items, wary of anymore cutesy shapes. Milk, strawberries, carrots, and one tiny biscuit were neatly packed away. Properly balanced, Damian noticed with a sharp pang of home sickness. His own mum just packed whatever she could; cupcakes, sandwiches, bean sprouts, and on one memorable occasion, a full pot of stew forced into Tupperware.

Just as Cameron opened his mouth to speak a large black girl wearing gold Vans and rainbow zebra print jeans abruptly jumped up onto one of the lunch tables and shouted, "Hey! What's the big idea?"

"Yo, Mika!" came the answering reply from a freakishly tall boy in a letterman jacket who moved his way up the isle next to the black girl, doing a weird half-walk half-hop whilst snapping his fingers.

Damian ogled as several other boys and girls hopped up onto the table tops, singing in harmony to MIKA's "Lollipop." He nearly choked when a band materialized out of nowhere to play the background music. It was as if the Irish boy had unwittingly and mistakenly stepped onto the set of High School Musical. This… this type of thing didn't happen in real life! Students didn't just burst into song whenever they wanted, with people suddenly breaking into perfectly synchronized choreography. As the students performed their dance routine between tables, Damian spotted Rachel. She wasn't hard to pick out; she was the shortest person of the group, and she was wearing a giant fluffy white sweater that looked like she had _worn_ the cat instead of having its face screen-printed on the front. After Rachel belted out the last note of "Lollipop", her hands outstretched with a grin plastered to her face she said proudly, "Don't forget to audition for the Glee club! We're accepting new members!"

Bewildered, Damian moved to clap for the performance, but was stopped by Cameron's hands gripping his wrist. His friend's face was a mask of horror as he anticipated what would come next.

"Yippiee-ki-yay, Motherfucker!"

The paper container of nachos came sailing in a slow, high arc from the jock table and hit Rachel solidly in the chest; synthetic cheese bloomed across her sweater like a gaping wound. After that, the food came from all directions, origins impossible to discern.

"Watch!" Damian yelped, grabbing Cameron's shoulder and forcing him down before he could be nailed in the head with a barbeque chicken wing.

Cameron weakly smiled. "Thanks." He muttered, adjusting his glasses.

Damian groaned as a carton of 2% milk whizzed dangerously close past his ear. He grabbed Cameron's shoulder again and dragged him under the table. From under the cheap plastic of the table, Damian viewed the food fight with disgust. "How stupid—'Die Hard' quote? Why did he say that? Was that really the best he could come up with?" he groused. Back at his old school, a food fight like this would have been hilarious. But… this wasn't one of those food fights that was all in good fun. The smaller kids were being targeted mercilessly by the sports kids, and the group of singing Glee kids had been completely buried in food. One of the boys was crying as he cradled a tomato-sauce soaked sweater to his chest. Naturally, none of the teachers seemed to know what to do. They shuffled around the edges of the room, waving their hands, looking concerned. A red-headed teacher in an argyle print skirt had crammed herself into a corner and was also crying. Damian wondered, as he settled in for a long wait in his plastic bunker, if this was how it felt like to be a spectator at the Coliseum.

By the time it was safe to crawl out from under the plastic refuge of the lunch table the period was almost over. Brushing himself off, Cameron stood up and grimaced at the scene around him. Damian grumbled and followed suit, brushing stray corn from his shoulder with annoyance.

"Christ, it's only the second day." He said, wincing at the baked beans sticking to the roof.

When Cameron made a slight squeak of protest, Damian's eyes snapped back to his friend and he hurriedly backpedaled. "Err… I mean. Uh. 'Wow. It's only… the second day…' S-sorry. Yeah."

Smiling, Cameron accepted his apology with a nod.

"Uh… you have…" Damian reached over and gently pulled a baby carrot from Cameron's meticulously styled hair. "Okay got it." He declared, tossing the veggie over his shoulder carelessly.

"T-thanks!" Cameron choked quickly, ears reddening "Let's go to class." He hurried to the door before Damian could properly reply.

* * *

><p>On his way to class after the food fight fiasco, Damian was slushied without preamble. One moment he was walking down the hallway, the next he was covered in green ice. Thankfully, <em>mercifully<em>, the slushy had missed its mark and none of it had hit his eyes or face. Carefully ignoring the sneering laughter of the jocks, Damian pressed onwards, slipping out the scrap of paper with Cameron's locker number on it.

A few moments of wet, itchy searching later, Damian pried open Cameron's locker door, pawing through the gym bag that clearly held his friend's spare clothes. Green plaid button down… red plaid button down… blue plaid button down… red AND blue plaid button down… purple cardigan… Grinning at his friend's taste in fashion, Damian selected the green shirt and headed to the men's room to change.

The button-down was a little snug in the chest and shoulders, and was obviously way too long for him. Maybe he should tuck it in…? Damian shrugged, deciding finally that he didn't care enough to fuss with it. He rather enjoyed the lingering scent of cinnamon that clung to the flannel fabric. He glanced in the mirror and ran a hand through his spikes, fluffing them up before kicking open the door to the bathroom and stepping out into the hallway.

"Hold it right there, McNamara!"

Only a few feet away from the Men's room, Damian stuttered to a halt, turning around to face Sue Sylvester. It was incredible how fast the entire hall had emptied out at the sound of her voice. Sue stopped unnervingly close to Damian, her hands on her hips.

"Tell me." She began, her eyes narrowing. "How often does Michael Flatly change the newspaper in your cages?"

Damian blinked hard. She didn't actually think he was an extra from _Riverdance_, did she?

"Because I, the magnanimous woman that I am, would be willing to change the newspaper in your cage at least twice as often. Provided you sacrifice your lunch break," Sue said.

"Err…" he began.

Sue wrinkled her nose. "And I would be willing to fashion a uniform for you that is less aggressively homosexual than the ones Flatley made you wear."

"Wait a minute! I don't thi—"

"I'm going to stop you right there. Are you saying that you liked wearing the leather pants?" Sue said accusingly.

Damian floundered. "Wha-? N…no! I'm not in _Riverdance_!"

Sue's voice dipped as she stepped in closer. "O'Flaherty, have you caught… the Gay Fever?"

"The what-fever?" Damian said incredulously, looking up into the coach's scowling face.

"The Gay Fever. It's like Yellow Fever… but with six more colors," she declared, her voice at a steady low level.

The Irish boy stared up at Sue disbelievingly.

"When will you be ready to start running?"

Damian's eyebrows shot up in surprise, and he resisted the urge to cover them with his palms. "Never."

Sue backed up a step. "What?"

"I'm not running for you," Damian stated, heatedly.

The Cheerleading coach glared at Damian for a long moment before moving so close their chests brushed. She ducked her head close to Damian's ear and whispered, "Think about what you're choosing, McMillan. Do you really want Sue Sylvester as your enemy?"

When Damian didn't respond Sue withdrew and shouted, "You will RUE the day you tangled with me! I once asphyxiated a water buffalo with my bare hands. My _bare hands_! I'm known as the Oncoming Plague in parts of sub-Saharan Africa!"

Perfectly fed up with the absurdity of the entire school, Damian simply walked away. Despite Sue's warning, he couldn't have had any idea what he was getting himself into.

* * *

><p>There was nothing he could do when the beautiful red-haired girl from his Maths class was pelted with blue slushy, right outside of the classroom. Damian stood stock still in the middle of the hallway, gripping the strap of his backpack tightly. Two footballers in their letterman jackets snorted with laughter and high fived before making their way down the hallway unmolested. Damian glanced about, looking for allies, but the passing students did not budge their eyes from the linoleum tiling of the floor. The pretty ginger began to tremble. A glob of deep blue slushy plopped from her forehead onto her cheek, sliding down her face like a cobalt tear. Damian clenched his fist tightly, moving down the hallway where Schuester was talking—<em>flirting<em> cheerfully with some owlish looking teacher with a giant bow on her cardigan, who he vaguely remembered as being the woman who had been crying during the food fight. Damian sucked in a breath and his pride. He couldn't believe he was doing this—

"Mr. Schuester," he began, his voice shaking slightly and his hands fisted. "Two guys just pelted tha' girl with a slushy." Damian was angry at the boys for slushying the girl from Maths. He was angry that no one would come to her aid. He was angry—no, f_urious_, that he had stooped so low as to snitch to a teacher.

"Sorry Damian, I didn't see any—I was speaking to Ms. Pillsbury, here," he replied, chuckling with thinly veiled annoyance at being interrupted.

There was a brief moment of silence.

"'Sorry?' Ye've gotta be kiddin' me! Do ye people see ANYTHIN' in this school? Do ye have eyes? How—WHY do ye let this shite happen?" Damian vented, smacking a locker.

Schuester's eyes widened as he said simply, "Detention today, Damian." Then he twisted his features into his well-worn 'I'm-so-disappointed-in-you' face.

Damian sputtered indignantly, a thousand protests springing to his lips. _Of course, I'm the only one who gets fecking detention. Of course it's me_. Scowling he spun on his heel and stalked down the hall, cursing Schuester's stupidity, complacency, and his butt-chin while ripping from his pocket a list. Judging from the puddle of blue syrup on the floor, the red-haired girl had stumbled away to the girls' bathroom.

Damian uncapped his pen and viciously crossed out 33.

**33.) Anytime you have an issue, please don't hesitate to inform/consult a teacher, a parent, or an administrator.**

* * *

><p>AN Thanks for reading! Please drop a review with suggestions for upcoming chapters and things I can improve on. Or say anything you want, really, I'm not too fussy. :] Detention and blackmail are looming in Damian's future.

(Dear Glee, just let me write Sue one-liners. Thank you. )


	4. It'll All Work Out

Damian spent the rest of the day in agitation, tapping his knee and keeping one eye trained on the clock as the day rolled to an end. He stood as the bell rang, shouldering his pack and moving swiftly out the door. He had no idea how he was going to tell Cameron the he'd gotten detention—on the _second day_, no less.

_Everybody is crackers and somehow I'm being punished for it._ He tried out in his head gloomily. _Mr. Schuester can't see ten feet in front of him and apparently it's my fault. _Damian was getting close to Cameron's locker. _I was surrounded by saber-wielding polar bears on jet-skis when—_

"Damian!"

The blue eyed boy jolted and turned around to where Cameron was grinning happily at him.

"Hey man! Been looking for you." His grin twisted into a friendly smirk. "Nice shirt—"

"—I HAVE DETENTION!" Damian blurted impulsively.

Cameron blinked slowly. "Oh. Well. Okay…? I have Christ Crusaders after school today so it's not a problem." He shrugged.

Damian stared at Cameron's polite smile, waiting, but the question never came. Cameron simply walked in contented silence, not pressing Damian for why he had been punished.

A surge of gratefulness coursed through Damian.

"Meet you at Gladys once you're done?" Cameron queried with a quirk of his head.

Damian shoved his hand in his pockets. "Sure. Thanks."

He thought he felt a strange twinge in his stomach at Cameron's answering grin, but he brushed it aside as frustration at having detention and moved down the hall sulkily.

* * *

><p>"Okay, your job will be to mop the stage." Schuester chirped as he handed over a beaten up mop and a bucket to a surly looking Damian. "Do you think you can handle it?"<p>

Biting back a sharp retort, Damian nodded silently, taking the cleaning supplies from the Spanish teacher.

"Bueno. I'll check back in an hour." He said over his shoulder as he left stage right.

Dropping the mop head into the bucket of suds, the young boy took the opportunity to look around. The auditorium was a nice facility, he noted, what with all the fancy lights and props on the wall behind him. It was classy, he thought absently as he dragged the mop across the floor. Just a wee bit dusty. Sighing, Damian let the tension slide from his shoulders as he mopped the stage thoroughly.

When he was finally finished, he dropped the mop back into the bucket with a splash and surveyed his work. Not too shabby. He quirked a smile and rolled his shoulders tiredly, turning around to face the rows and rows of plush seats.

Damian had never been in an auditorium by himself. It was… rather heady.

The Irish boy glanced at the side door to the stage before smirking and pulling the mop handle to himself. No one was around—what could it hurt?

He tapped his foot slowly in a slow beat.

"I'm not surprised, not everything lasts" He started out softly, singing into his make-shift microphone. "I've broken my heart so many times I stopped keepin' track." Moving down stage he picked up tempo. "Talk myself in, talk myself out. I get all worked up then I let myself down."

"I tried so very hard not to lose it. I came up with a million excuses. I thought I thought of every possibility!" Damian could feel his eyebrows arching with the music on their own accord, and he grinned at the invisible audience in front of him.

"And I know someday it'll all turn out! And you'll make me work so we can work to work it out. And I promise you, kid, that I give so much more than I get! I just haven't met you yet!" He sang loudly this time, letting himself be swept up into the moment, letting the song settle around him like a good friend and truly relaxing for the first time in weeks.

"Whoah! Dude!"

And the peace abruptly shattered. Damian snapped his head to the side of the stage, gripping his mop like a lifeline and breathed heavily. His heart was racing as he was stared at by about a dozen students and Mr. Schuester.

Rachel stepped forward, her shiny buckled shoes clacking loudly on the freshly scrubbed wooden floor. "Damian, I had no idea you could sing!"

Suddenly it felt like the auditorium's heater kicked into overdrive. Damian felt his entire body catch on fire as he stood in the center stage that had once felt comforting, but now felt more like an execution platform.

"I'mdonemoppin'nowIgottagomyrideishere." He gasped out, throwing the mop down and bolting for the door. The blue-eyed boy didn't stop running until he reached Gladys. Panting, he backed up against her cool siding and slid down until he was sitting. He dragged his knees to his chest and willed himself to be somewhere—_anywhere_ else.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Here is the un-beta'd next chapter of my fic. I thought I should give it to you guys since it's been sitting on my computer for a few months now. Urg. Sorry. I'm just not feeling that inspired lately, Hence the uh... somewhat lesser quality of this chapter. As always, Reviews are greatly appreciated and welcomed. <strong>


	5. Hit Me Baby One More Time

Damian's legs had gone numb by the time Cameron appeared, humming something soft and low under his breath. The boy abruptly stopped when he spotted his downtrodden Irish friend.

"Damian?"

The Damian shot off the ground, dusting off his pants. "What?"

Cameron made a funny face; his nose was scrunched up tightly as he narrowed his eyes. He wasn't smiling. "Well, a hi-howdy to you too, partner." He joked weakly after a moment of uncomfortable silence.

After they had climbed into Gladys and Cameron wrestled to get her going, he turned to Damian, obvious concern sparkling in his eyes

"Hey," he began gently. "You wanna talk about it?"

Damian hunkered farther into the worn pseudo-suede seat and crossed his arms. "Nothin' ta talk about." He grumbled, moodily staring out the window. Nothing besides copious amounts of embarrassment. Massive, gargantuan amounts of embarrassment.

"Liar." Cameron quipped simply.

Snapping his head towards his companion, Damian's eyes were wide with disbelief. Was Cameron really going to call him out?

The nerdy boy's small grin said otherwise. "Obviously you are suffering from Britney withdrawal. Lucky for you, I happen to specialize in this particular brand of medication." Thus, Cameron swiftly jabbed his car CD player on and stared at Damian with playful green eyes.

'_My loneliness is killing me.'_

"AAAAND IIIIII!" Cameron chirped along in falsetto

'_I must confess, I still believe'_

"STIIIIILL BELIEVE!"

Damian watched in fascinated horror as the American waved his hands dramatically while squinting.

'_When I'm not with you I lose my mind.' _

"GIVE ME A SIIIIIIIGN!" Cameron had his eyes closed at this point, his hands closed into fists as he screeched.

The ridiculous head-bob his friend made while he simultaneously belted, "HIT ME BAYBAY ONE MORE TIIIIIME!" sent Damian over the edge. His full-bodied laughter made Gladys rock on her aged springs, and soon enough Cameron's giggles joined in.

Grinning triumphantly, Cameron turned down the radio and shifted his baby into reverse. Both boys were still smiling stupidly by the time they pulled up to Cameron's white house.

"…Thanks, Cam." Damian said quietly, looking determinedly at his hands.

Cameron's goofy grin melded into something soft as he considered the boy sitting shotgun. "You're welcome, Damo."

Neither spoke as they climbed out of Gladys, or when Cameron unlocked and bumped open his front door and led them inside.

When the two sat together in front of the Michaels' small TV that evening, Cameron wordlessly handed Damian the remote, and didn't protest when the boy flipped it to European football.

And when the two sat together at the dinner table, Cameron easily guided his parents focus onto him, recounting on the day's events for the both of them.

Later that night, Cameron mutely offered Damian a green towel and sleepy smile before he climbed into his own bed. And when Damian returned from his shower with eyes that seemed a little too red to be from steam, Cameron didn't comment on it.

* * *

><p>The strange understanding that had passed between the two boys the day before didn't dissipate by the next morning. Damian grumbled at Cameron's disgusting chipperness so early in the morning while Cameron gleefully made them both toast, but the mood in the air had undeniably changed.<p>

The Irish boy was still in deep contemplation of this… this… _development_, when he was accosted before first bell that morning. He had half-heartedly hoped the day before that the stupid Glee club would just pretend the whole incident hadn't happened and leave him to suffer his humiliation in peace but, as he would lament later, he should have known it was not to be.

"DAMIAN!" A voice called shrilly from down the hall.

Cameron and Damian both stopped side-by-side in the middle of the hallway, sharing bemused looks. In response to Cameron's quizzically tilted head, the blue-eyed boy simply shrugged.

"Finally, there you are! I've been looking for you since you ran out of the auditorium yesterday." Rachel blurted impatiently once she'd caught up to them.

The Irish boy was too busy staring at the girl to notice the look of perplexity Cameron shot at him.

If her outfit the other day had seemed strange, it was nothing compared to this one. The petite girl was wearing white stockings, black buckled shoes, a brown plaid skirt, and a sweater that surely had been sewn by demons. Blue eyes oggled the hideous garment, gaze bouncing from the shapeless mass of pumpkins to the equally lumpy autumn leaves to the orange pompoms stuck to the cuffs and collar, finally coming to rest on the large scarecrow that appeared to be having a seizure.

"My eyes are up here!"

Damian instantly moved his gaze up to Rachel's face, ears steadily turning red as Cameron huffed in amusement beside him.

"Anyway, you _must_ join the Glee club, Damian McLaughlin." Rachel lifted her chin a few inches, crossing her arms in a display that was as imposing as a wet mouse.

"Uh…?" Damian adjusted his backpack idly while his taller friend choked on air next to him.

Rachel took this as an invitation to press her point, because she instantly took off. "It's obvious that you should! Your unique voice is exactly the sound this club needs to propel us forward and lead us to victory at Nationals this year. You're the best option, even if you do flail your arms too much when you sing, and you make weird faces—but that can all be easily remedied. I'll even take you under my wing, because I care so much about this club."

The way Rachel's eyes glinted didn't bode well.

Damian sputtered indignantly, his entire face a deep scarlet by now.

"You sing?" Cameron asked with curious excitement.

"No! Uh… not really? Kind of?" Fisting his hands in his pockets, the shorter boy mentally planned his escape route.

Rachel immediately began a fast-paced sermon about the nuances of show-choir and the importance of body language that Damian had no trouble tuning out. After several long minutes of painful lecturing, Damian couldn't help it any longer and looked up at his friend.

His thick black glasses were slightly askew on his long nose, and his eyes crinkled with the size of his amused smile. Cameron cocked his head to the side, questioning.

And so Damian maturely stuck out his tongue and blew a raspberry.

The American let out a surprised shout of laughter that Damian couldn't help but return, and soon they were both laughing so hard they had to lean on each other to stand up.

When their laughter receded into light chuckles, Rachel scowled at the pair, folding her arms across the epileptic scarecrow and proclaimed, "THERE IS NOTHING FUNNY ABOUT SHOW-CHOIR!"

The boys shared a brief look before dissolving into peals of laughter again, helpless to recover even after first bell had rang out and Rachel had long since stormed off in fury.

"Heehee… oh man, I'm sorry. You should've seen your face though, for real! Haaa…" Cameron stuttered much, much later.

Catching himself before he flipped Cameron the bird, Damian waved a dismissing hand and pushed off of his friend, moving towards first period, extremely late. "Yeah, yeah, whatever!" At least for now he wouldn't have to talk about the whole singing… thing.

* * *

><p>Damian had nearly fallen asleep when he was rudely poked between the ribs. Jolting upright and out of the way, the boy struggled to get a look at his attacker in the darkness of the classroom.<p>

"Hey."

"What-?" Damian blinked his eyes blearily, straining to see the girls features. It was difficult to see in the darkness of the classroom, the only light source coming from the cracks in the shades and the flickering of the TV monitor.

"Sorry." She giggled quietly. "Were you sleeping? I can get that. I love Shakespeare, but the acting in this movie is just terrible."

Oh… was it Shakespeare they were watching? The boy glanced at the movie and estimated that it was Hamlet. Probably. Or was it Romeo and Juliet? Whatever. "Uh. Yeah," Damian agreed. "Err… Sorry. Who are ye? I'm—sorry, I'm not t' good with names yet." He rubbed his neck sheepishly.

"Oh! Tina. Tina Cohen-Chang. My bad." Tina smiled kindly, tucking a stray piece of her long black hair behind her ear.

"Nice ta meet ya, Tina." He replied, awkwardly resting his head on his hands. "'m Damian."

The girl's smile grew. "Yeah, I know. Rachel hasn't shut up about you since yesterday afternoon."

Crap. He should have known that was the reason for her friendliness. Damian felt his stomach lurch. "Uh yeah, about that—"

"You looked happy." Tina smiled.

Damian froze, startled.

"It was beautiful." The Asian girl shifted in her seat, her black lace blouse puckering. "Not just your song but—I don't know. You just looked so at home and completely at peace. It was nice."

His eyebrows shot up as Damian wondered, not for the first time, if he was _that_ easy to read.

"I'm not going to force you to join Glee club. I just want you to understand that if you ever needed a place for acceptance and release— we would be there for you. We'd even sing backup!" Tina turned in her seat to face the movie as Damian sat, slightly dumbstruck, in his cold metal chair.

Damian slid down in his seat, throwing an arm across his eyes. Clearly he needed to work harder at being less obvious.

* * *

><p>It was weird, Damian thought, as he lounged in his seat. He'd been accosted by 5 people today with single-minded doggedness like… like… the <em>Borg<em> or something. First there was Rachel. Then Tina. Then a nerdy looking kid in a wheelchair. Then that intense black girl from the lunch disaster. Then, most recently, a buff kid with a Mohawk who simply stared Damian in the eye, flexed his huge arm, and said "Glee" before swaggering off.

He gave those Gleeks one thing—they were determined as hell. Damian took a bite of his heart-shaped sandwich and surveyed the canteen. So far, he hadn't been approached. Damn if he hoped it'd stay like that.

"Hola, mi amigo." Cameron plopped into the chair next to him, a brown paper bag of his own at hand.

"HOH-lahh." Damian replied with a small smile. His accent always mucked up the sharp Spanish words unless he was concentrating very, very hard.

Cam laughed and slapped his buddy on the back. "You're a veritable Ricky Martin, my friend."

Damian grinned. "Oh shove off."

"Wounded! I am wounded and appalled and also insulted. " Cameron replied, drawing his expression into mock hurt, placing a bracelet-clad hand across his chest.

Laughing, Damian threw an arm across the other's shoulder. "Cam, you are the weirdest weirdo I have ever met."

"I'll have you know that I take great pride in that." Cam stuck out his tongue before nibbling on a stick of celery.

"Ugh! Rabbit food!" Damian grunted at the offending veggie in disgust.

"Yupyup. Gotta keep my pelt nice and shiny." Cameron took a large bite of celery with relish, smirking at his friend's horrified expression.

They fell into a contented silence after that. It took Damian several long minutes before he realized his arm was still slung across Cam's shoulders. Subtly, the Irish boy tried to extricate his arm without bringing too much attention to the fact. As he slowly pulled his arm away, Cameron choked on a carrot stick and turned a bright red. Damian slapped the other's back in alarm.

"Are ya alrigh'? Breathe, mate!"

Cameron coughed harshly, his eyes watering. "Fine, fine! I'm fine."

For the rest of lunch, his nerdy friend stared red-faced at his food, not once looking up at Damian. When he spoke it was out of the corner of his mouth and very brief.

Leaning back in his seat, Damian wondered what he had said to make Cam so skittish.

* * *

><p>"Damian, could I speak to you please?"<p>

Wincing, Damian stopped as the rest of the class surged around him, eager to escape to the buses. Shouldering his bag, the Sophomore trudged his way up to Mr. Schuester's desk.

They stared at each other in awkward silence until it became apparent to the Spanish teacher that Damian wasn't going to say anything.

"Um well—" Schuester cleared his throat. "There's some… bad news I have to share with you."

Oh God. His visa was somehow mixed up and he was never allowed to go to Ireland again. He was HIV positive. Al Qaeda was starting up a training camp down the block. His mum died. Damian's eyebrow twitched as he waited for Schuester to drop the bomb.

"All transfer students have to sign up for some sort of extra-curricular activity in order to stay at the school." Schuester fingered the buttons on his grey vest as he watched carefully for Damian's response.

All of the air in Damian's lungs escaped at once. "Ooooh my God!"

Schuester's eyes bugged momentarily. "_Excuse_ me?"

He could have laughed in relief, but instead Damian settled for a small smile. "No— it's jus' the way you were actin' made it sound more serious—anyway that's fine. I'll just join the football team."

The grey vest puckered as Schuester folded his arms across his chest. "I'm afraid you've missed the tryout dates for all of the sports teams."

"What? Ye—Yer serious?" Damian reeled backwards. It was only the first month of school how did he miss tryouts? "How did I mi—"

"YOU MISSED THEM!" A perfectly gelled lock bobbed loose when Schuester placed his hands on his desk and leaned forward earnestly. "But there is another way…"

Suddenly it clicked. "Oh no. No no no. NO." Damian took a step backwards, white knuckling his backpack. "I know where you're going but I can't. You can't make me."

Shaking his head, Schuester came around the desk as Damian took another step back. "I'm afraid it's a school rule, and Glee club is the only extra-curricular still recruiting. I'm a teacher, Damian. I'm looking out for your best interests. You're a bright kid, and you deserve the support system Glee could provide you. All I want is for you to be on the path to succeed, because you have a great future ahead of you."

Bullshit! It was like Schuester was reading off a motivational poster. Did he actually think that crap would work?

There was no way, _no friggin' way_, Damian was ever joining Glee club.

"Hi. I'm Damian McLaughlin and I'll be joining Glee for this year." The assembled choir students clapped and hollered as Schuester looked on smugly. Damian slouched forward, hunching his shoulders.

_Perfect. _

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><p><em><strong>AN: Okay wow I've had this on my laptop for months because I thought I'd accidentally deleted it. I've fallen a bit out of love with Glee this season, but I'll try my best to keep up with this story. If only so you guys can learn how Schuester finally convinced Damo to join Glee club xP Anyway, I figured I better post this chap right away before I gave into the urge to rewrite the damn thing. You guys have waited long enough, after all. <strong>  
><em>

_**Reviews are always welcome, especially crit!  
><strong>_


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